Or “The Author Nobody Saw Coming”
“Wow. It isn’t at all what I expected. It’s better!”
I think spending most of my life the intelligent, thoughtful, quiet bookworm has lead a few of my friends to think anything I wrote would have the drab, dry tone of a college lecture. (You know, like that 90-year-old biology professor who bored himself to sleep a time or two while rattling on about organelles?). It turns out, spending so much time buried in medical literature, charting, and treatment protocols can leave something… hidden.
Becoming finally released this past week (in case you’ve been living in a cave or something and didn’t know) and I keep hearing the same interesting bit of feedback. No one. Saw this. Coming. Causing a degree of cognitive dissonance can be quite satisfying when you’ve spent years on a project in mostly secret and totally nervous about letting it out into the wild. The complimentary reviews still surprise a little nervous part of me, but every day that part gets a little quieter.
I thought I had silenced my inner critic but really her overly-critical monologues has been drown out by all of you.
“By golly, I think we have some imagination taking root over here!”
Batteries are not recharged—at least not for this nerd—on textbooks. Art, coloring, drawing, painting, and writing are where I go to rest. Having an overactive brain to begin with generally means “rest” is not defined the same for me as it may be for someone else. I rest by creating. The mental break I give myself every day is spent on chatting with my characters and investing hours in a computer program to build 3D models of their homes and settings.
I take in all the things I see and deal with at work then process them out into entertaining fictional stories and creations. This grants me a surprising amount of resilience and tolerance to stress, change, and trauma. Creativity gives my nerdy little overactive brain the outlet it needs to handle stress.
A hobby is a hobby is a… well, not a business.
There are other things I enjoy, of course, like knitting, houseplants, video games (Bespoken, I mean, come on. Who doesn’t want to jump off walls like a caffinated spider monkey? Skyrim is a work of art.), quilting, painting, hiking and rucking. Now that the weather is finally turning warmer, I can’t wait to get my boots on and spend some time among the trees. Nothing helps creativity like getting outside and crushing fitnes goals.
I’d like to say writing is a hobby, but like that plant my mother gave me at 5 inches tall two years ago, my hobby has grown into a fleshed out business. It just doesn’t make me itchy if I break a leaf off (Dieffenbachia-lovers everywhere understand my pain) so my plan is to let it sprout into whatever form it ends up being.
Nurturing my indoor jungle might bring me joy, but maybe someday nurturing this writing business could bring me money… to buy more house plants, of course.
The best part of my current writing venture is the knowledge that I’m firmly landing in the category of “weird creative” and “unexpected.” There is some serious satisfaction in this process.
Even at 39 years young I can still surprise everyone I know by pulling an urban fantasy novel out of my hat.
Love and Gratitude,
